Little Holmes Brothers
by supremegreendragon
Summary: Sequel to Little Sherlock. When Sherlock tries to shrink Mycroft in order to give him a taste of his own medicine, they both end up as three year olds. As if things weren't bad enough, they can't change back.
1. Chapter 1

I thought about it and decided that a sequel to _Little Sherlock_ might be fun to write. Thank you all who have been reading my stories. This first chapter is a simple introduction to the story. I'm experimenting with different types of writing styles. Please bear with me.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

I hope you guys are in the mood for Little!Mycroft as well as Little!Sherlock

* * *

Getting Mycroft alone proved to be a challenge. The man was either busy with negotiating with foreign countries or eating cake, so the only time Sherlock could get into contact with him was through phone. But he couldn't use a bloody de-aging gun through the phone. Sherlock needed to put Mycroft in his place, dammit. He had already bought a bunch of embarrassingly adorable clothes for when he became a toddler, like little pj's that was made to look like a dragon custom. Sherlock was going to get Mycroft back for blackmailing him if it was the last thing he ever did.

Now he was at his aunt's birthday party. Mycroft was hosting it at his house and Mummy insisted on making all the treats for her sister's party. Normally Sherlock wouldn't be caught dead with his family but he knew the video would put him to deep shame if Mycroft ever decided to show it to anyone. Sherlock had to put up with all his aunts and grandmothers pinching his cheeks. The male family members never said anything against the female Holmes, so Sherlock couldn't look to them for aid. Sherlock thought about sticking close to Uncle Jerry, who was a big muscled, bald headed man that normally scared women off. However, the aunts found Uncle Jerry oddly adorable and he appreciated them giving him affection. He would be useless as a body guard.

Sherlock spotted Mycroft munching on a few treats. He excused himself from Aunt Penny, who had pinched his cheeks exactly three times in the last half hour, and made his way over. Mycroft saw him coming out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock made sure to keep the gun safely hidden in his coat.

"Hello Sherlock," greeted the elder brother, "Have you wished our aunt a happy birthday yet?"

"Of course. But enough about her. I want to discuss more important and pressing matters."

Mycroft slathered his bread with a generous amount of honey.

"And what would that be?"

"I want to talk about you deleting that video and removing all trace of it," there. Quick and to the point. Just like Sherlock had planned it.

"And why would I do that?"

Sherlock leaned closer and whispered, "Can we talk about this in a more private place?"

Mycroft considered his offer. He polished off his last bit of bread while he thought. There was suspicion in his eyes.

"Very well. Come up and follow me."

Mycroft led the way. Mummy found them walking up the stairs and called up to them.

"Are you two behaving yourselves?" she asked.

"Yes, Mummy," they replied in unison.

"You're not fighting?"

"No, Mummy," again the same perfect unison.

Mummy Holmes looked satisfied with their answers.

"Alright. Come back down soon. We're going to do presents in a few minutes."

They nodded and left. Sherlock was annoyed when Mycroft led him to his old toddler room and found that nothing had changed. There was still the stupid car-shaped bed with the toy box and everything.

Anger stirred in Sherlock's chest. It was as if Mycroft was hoping that he would become a three year old again one day. Well, Sherlock decided, this room will soon become Mycroft's and then Sherlock will be the big brother. He will tell Mycroft what to do and when to do it and maybe he wouldn't be nearly as fat when he grew up the second time. Sherlock aimed his gun.

Mycroft noticed it at the last second and grabbed it. The two fought over the rainbow-colored weapon, grunting and yelling at each other. Their heads were close enough together that when one of them accidentally triggered the gun, the beam hit both of them.

For Sherlock it was a terrible deva vu. For Mycroft it was a surreal experience. In an instant they were looking around the room that was suddenly much bigger. They glared at each other.

"This is all your fault!" Sherlock cried, getting angrier to hear his high pitch voice again.

"I disagree," Mycroft's voice was also high pitch but still a little bit deeper than Sherlock's, "I have to say that the person who brought the bloody gun is at fault. What was your intention?"

"What do you think my intention was?"

"Something very childish. This can probably go towards the top of the list of the worst things you have ever done."

Their clothing had changed magically when they shrank. Sherlock was wearing a plain T-shirt with a bee on it. Mycroft was wearing a plain red shirt with a loose jacket over it. He looked classier than Sherlock. It just wasn't fair! Why did Sherlock have to be the one with the stupid smiling bee shirt? Why was his voice squeakier? Why did he have to suffer this a second time?

Mycroft looked through his pocket and frowned when he pulled up a play cell phone.

"I see I don't have my phone with me. No matter. I will contact them another way."

Sherlock was silent.

"Um, Mycroft."

"You're very lucky that we had that potion made."

"That's the problem."

Mycroft stopped short, "What?"

Sherlock cursed himself. He really should have planned this out more.

"The potion won't work."

Now Mycroft was really starting to lose his cool.

"What do you mean it won't work? It worked before!"

"I reconfigured the de-aging gun so that it wouldn't," Sherlock admitted, "We're stuck until we come up with a new solution."

Sherlock watched Mycroft's face turn pinkish. The older toddler brought up his hand. It was the lightest of smacks, its intention not to cause pain but to show his displeasure. Sherlock was caught off guard when the hand landed lightly on his head.

He felt it coming. Sherlock tried to stop it. Tears were starting to form. He had to stop himself. He tried. He tried. He tried.

Sherlock started crying and he ran out the door.

"I'm telling Mummy on you!"

The idea that Mummy would get mad at him terrified Mycroft. His adult mind was thrown out the door as Mycroft followed.

"I didn't do anything!" he cried.

The two boys descended down the steps, not noticing everyone looking at them in shock.

Their adventure had just started.


	2. Chapter 2

The screaming toddlers ran down the steps, causing everyone in the room to gape at them and their cuteness. The grandmothers were all surprised to see the two brothers as they appeared years ago. The aunts were equally stunned. Only Mummy had an inkling of what happened.

A tearful Sherlock ran and hugged at his mother's legs, sobbing incoherently. She could barely make out the words 'Mycroft' and 'his fault.' Mycroft came up to her but didn't hug her leg. Instead, he kept a respectable distance away from her, since he had always been more aware of personal space than Sherlock. Almost to a fault, Mummy remembered a bit sadly that her eldest hardly ever did any cuddling business.

"I didn't do anything. He's lying."

Sherlock came up for air, revealing his red and tear-stricken face. Mummy tentatively put a hand on his head. She remembered how Sherlock would have these fits whenever he thought Mycroft was being unfair.

"He hit me!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, he did!"

Aunt Penny was the first aunt to dare get a closer look at this supernatural transformation.

"What in the world happen to those two?" she asked.

"Dears," Mummy addressed her now very, very young sons, "Why are you like this?"

"Because he hit me!"

"No, I didn't!"

"I mean why are you both three year olds?" Mummy pressed.

Sherlock ceased his wailing so suddenly that Mummy knew he had been overly dramatic just then. Mycroft and Sherlock looked at each other for a long time, then they tilted their heads back up toward their mother.

"We don't know," they answered in unison.

"Was there a gun?" she asked.

Sherlock took a moment to think.

"Yeah. I brought it!"

"Why ever did you do that?" Mummy asked in shock.

Sherlock pointed at Mycroft.

"All I know is that it's his fault!"

"No, it's not! You were trying to turn me into a three year old."

"You are a three year old now, stinky!"

"So are you, dummy!"

"Meanie!"

"Uncultured! You are so dumb that you think Hamlet is Shakespeare's greatest work!"

"It is!" Sherlock insisted.

"No. You're dumb. Everyone knows that it's King Lear!"

"Hamlet!"

"Lear!"

"Hamlet!"

"Lear!"

"HAM-"

"Boys boys boys!" Mummy cried out.

The two stopped shouting immediately. They looked back up at her. Mummy thought for a moment, then grabbed a cupcake and split in in two.

"Here. Eat this," she gave them each a piece.

The two made no move to eat it. They just stared at their portion, then looked at the other's. Sherlock made a sour face.

"His cupcake is bigger than mine."

"Sherlock Holmes. You and Mycroft eat what you have in your hands right now," Mummy commanded.

With a quick 'yes, Mummy' from both boys, the two brothers did as their mother told them to. That done, Mummy began asking them questions about quantum physics. They answered easily as if she had asked what two plus two equaled. To Mummy's great dismay, they both demanded more cupcakes.

"They're still thinking like kids!" she exclaimed.

Uncle Jerry finally took the initiative to come up to her.

"What happened to them?" he asked with just as much amazement as Aunt Penny.

Mummy explained as much as she could before Sherlock demanded her attention once more. He wanted to play pirates. Mycroft tried pulling Sherlock away from her, telling him to 'stop being so childish.' Sherlock almost bit him but Mycroft pulled his hand away in the nick of time. With a parental instinct, Mummy scolded Sherlock.

"No biting," then she looked at everyone in the room, "Please let me handle this. Keep a close eye on them."

The family nodded. When Mummy left, they attacked. Aunt Penny pinched at Sherlock's cheeks like no tomorrow. Aunt Lily tickled Mycroft's tummy. He didn't like it but she didn't care. However, Aunt Lily got back in Mycroft's good books when she gave him a sweet biscuit. The birthday girl Aunt Ruth got to pick them up. She grabbed Mycroft first.

"I remember when you two looked like this. You gave your mother a hard time," Ruth laughed softly.

Mycroft finished his treat. His eyes looked so big with his little face.

"Can we watch the X Factor?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah! X Factor!" Sherlock agreed in delight.

"You like watching people sing?" Ruth asked.

"I like watching people humiliate themselves," Mycroft confessed.

"Me too!" added Sherlock.

"Isn't that a little mean?" Ruth wondered.

"So?" both young boys replied in unison.

x

John rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had spent all night working then Sherlock woke him up early in the morning demanding him to go to the grocery store. John had been very close to strangling his friend then. But at least with Sherlock now gone he got to catch up on some sleep.

The doctor plopped on the couch and turned on the telly. The news was showing how someone shot the director of Buzz the Incredible Fly. They were still investigating the cause. A yawn escaped John's mouth as he switched the channel to My Lovely Vampire Girlfriend.

Halfway through his stories, John's cell phone rang. Seeing Sherlock's name on caller id, John set the telly on mute. He wasn't up to listening to his flatmate go on about how stupid he thought his taste in pulp fiction was.

"Hello Sherlock. What is it you need?" John asked.

"John?"

The doctor's eyes widened when he heard the hesitant voice. The deep, analytical voice was replaced by a naive, squeaky one. It sounded exactly the same as when Sherlock was-

"Sherlock. What happened?" John asked in alarm.

"Mycroft's being mean to me," said the voice on the other end.

Mycroft? Mycroft! Of course. Curse that bloke!

"Let me speak to him," John requested.

There was a pause.

"Okay. Here he is," Sherlock's voice said in the distance, "He wants to talk to you."

"Mycroft. Why is Sherlock young again?" John demanded.

"I don't know," came yet another high pitched voice.

John was stunned into silence. Mycroft sounded just as young as Sherlock.

"I'm not being mean to him," Mycroft defended himself, "It's just that he needs to learn other games besides pirates. That's why I took the sword away. I offered to play haggle with him."

Sherlock's voice on the other end said, "I don't like that game. It's dumb."

"Can you guys get the potion and change back?" John asked when he found his voice.

There was a moment's pause. The phone shuffled and Mrs. Holmes' voice came next.

"Is this John?"

"Mrs. Holmes? What happened?"

"I'm really not sure. They went upstairs as adults and came down like this. They don't remember much of what happened. I tried getting them to think like adults but the sweets won't work. I also tried giving them the potion that changed Sherlock back but nothing happened."

John listened with ever growing amazement. He thought back to when Sherlock was toiling with something in his study.

"Sherlock's been plotting something for days now."

"I think he wanted to change Mycroft for some reason," answered Mrs. Holmes, "He must have changed the de-aging gun somehow so that the potion wouldn't work."

John brought a hand up to his forehead. Why now? Why so soon after the first three year old incident? Mrs. Holmes noted his silence.

"Are you still there, John?"

"Yeah. I'm here. Listen, I'll be right over. We can figure this out. I will see you shortly."

"Okay John. We'll be here."

John hung up with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Dealing with only one three year old Holmes had been bad enough. What was it going to be like dealing with both brothers?

x

"Johns coming over for a visit," Mrs. Holmes announced after she placed Sherlock's phone back in his coat pocket. Sherlock had taken off his coat when he entered the building and must have left the phone in there.

Sherlock smiled eagerly.

"Alright. John will play pirates with me!"

"John probably wants to change us back into adults," Mycroft stated, "Don't be such a baby."

Sherlock glared at his older brother, though if they were both three years old, thought Mrs. Holmes, would that still make Mycroft the older one?

"He played pirates with me before. So, he'll play again. Tell me where you hid the sword," demanded Sherlock.

"Why can't we play politics?" Mycroft asked.

"Play it by yourself!"

"You're rude."

"And you're dumb."

"I'm dumb? You're the one who wants to go to Chepstow House for preschool."

"How's that dumb?"

"Because it just is!" Mycroft insisted.

Mrs. Holmes kneeled down to both of them.

"Hopefully, we won't have to worry about preschool. Wouldn't you two like to be adults again?"

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at her.

"Yeah, I want to," Sherlock exclaimed.

"Can I have a toffee?" Mycroft suddenly asked.

"No more sweets for now," Mrs. Holmes advised, "Why don't we go and watch some Spongebob?"

"No!"

Sherlock and their mother were both startled by Mycroft's sudden outburst. Mycroft looked horrified at the idea.

"What's the matter, Mycroft?" asked Mrs. Holmes.

Mycroft leaned up to meet his mother's ear.

"You can't show that kind of cartoon to Sherlock. He might get a bad impression."

"How so?" Mrs. Holmes asked.

Sherlock stared at the two curiously, looking upset at having been left out in the conversation.

"Spongebob works as a fry cook. And he's happy about it. I don't want Sherlock to think he'll be happy if he grows up to be a fry cook," Mycroft whispered.

Mrs. Holmes remembered that Mycroft had always been worried about Sherlock's future, especially when it came to his career.

"What are you two saying?" Sherlock asked.

"I want to watch Buzz the Incredible Fly," Mycroft said loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

"No. That show's dumb. Let's watch Tiger and Lamb."

"Okay," Mycroft agreed.

Mrs. Holmes was shocked to see her two sons actually agreeing on something. The two toddlers raced to the couch and clicked on the telly, showing Miss Bunny and Tiger having a little play date. The lamb was there waiter and was bringing them a veggie sandwich and a plate of cookies. The tiger looked at the audience.

"Which of these dishes is healthy?"

Sherlock and Mycroft didn't answer. They kept watching quietly but with interest.

"That's right! The veggie sandwich!"

"That's debatable," Sherlock said, "I mean, it's all relative. If there's a lot of mayonnaise on that sandwich, then it won't be so healthy anymore."

"It'd still be healthier than cookies," Mycroft argued.

"Na-ah."

"Aw-ha."

The two began going back and forward with their 'na-ah' and 'aw-ha'-ing until Mrs. Holmes had to silence them.

"No fighting, you two."

"Can we go to the zoo?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I want to go to the science museum," Mycroft said.

"But the zoo has flamingoes," Sherlock pointed out.

Mycroft fell silent, looking at Sherlock like he had made a very good point. Before Mummy could answer, the door chimed. One of the servants left and when he returned, John was with him. Sherlock rushed over to hug John's leg, not once acknowledging John's saddened look.

John took a look over at Mycroft. Mycroft hopped off the couch with his hands behind his back.

"Good afternoon, John," greeted the toddler.

"John!" Sherlock screeched from underneath the doctor, "Help me find my sword. I want to play pirates."

"We're turning both of you back to normal as soon as possible," John looked at Mrs. Holmes, "Have you talked to Mycroft's scientists?"

"Only the scientists in this country," Mrs. Holmes said without a hint of irony.

Why was John not surprised? He looked at Mycroft.

"Will they still listen to you?"

"As long as they get paid. Which isn't a problem," Mycroft informed, "Can I talk to you alone?"

John didn't have time to be curious. Sherlock turned to his older brother with a scowl.

"No. John is MY friend. He won't talk to you."

"Please, John?" Mycroft requested.

"No! I won't allow it!" Sherlock screeched.

"Sherlock. We don't treat our friends as possessions," Mrs. Holmes informed.

"I do," Sherlock insisted.

"Let John decide if he wants to talk to Mycroft alone."

The two toddlers looked at the doctor. John frowned and looked into Mycroft's big dark eyes.

"Alright. We can talk."

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed with a look of shock and betrayal.

"I'll only be a minute," John told him.

He followed Mycroft upstairs, wondering what the three year old wanted to talk to him about.


	3. Chapter 3

Following a three year old Mycroft oddly did not feel that much different from following him as an adult, John realized. Mycroft kept a straight and even posture as he lead John to Sherlock's three year old room. If he wasn't less than half John's height, John would have sworn that nothing about him had changed.

The doctor took one look at his surroundings and nearly sighed. Nothing had changed. Granted, it only been a few weeks since Sherlock last shrunk but John was sure that there was more to it than that. John knew that Mycroft would still like to have Sherlock as a kid if he had his own way. Mrs. Holmes was the only reason that Mycroft had ever consented to changing Sherlock back.

Mycroft offered John a seat on Sherlock's toddler bed. John did so, feeling awkward and more than a bit worried that his adult weight would be too much to support the bed. Mycroft remained standing and John could only guess that he was trying to make himself seem as big and powerful as possible, given his current situation. He had seen this look from Mycroft before. The cold seriousness that seemed so distant to John at first. But now he knew.

"You want to talk about Sherlock?" John offered.

Mycroft's bottom lip protruded ever so slightly. No way. Was that a pout? It wasn't quite as dramatic as Sherlock's pout but John was almost sure it was there. Mycroft folded his arms across himself.

"I appreciate all your help, John. I hope you can help us find the antidote soon," something in his voice told John that there was more that the toddler wanted to say.

"But…."

"But," Mycroft continued once pressed, "Moriarty is still out there. I'm so worried that I won't be able to protect him now that I'm…like this."

Mycroft pointed at his own face to emphasize the 'this' he was talking about. The gesture made John take a closer look at him. He could definitely see the older Mycroft's face underneath that boyish look, however, there was a youthful innocence that he didn't have before. The face wasn't quite as childlike as Sherlock's but John could already tell those big brown eyes would earn Mycroft a lot of treats if he played his cards right.

"What I am trying to say, John, is that I need someone reliable on the front lines."

"The wha-?" Mycroft made it sound like John was back in the army or something.

Oh. Was that another pout? It seemed to deepen after John showed his confusion. Mycroft seemed to be having a harder time hiding his emotions in his toddler form. He looked like he was about to say something sarcastic but held back and softened his eyes at the last second.

"I find it would be a sufficient strategy if you were out there looking for him."

It took a second for the words to trigger in John's head. Mycroft was asking him, a normal person, to look for the most elusive man in the world?

"You really want me to look for Moriarty?"

"Just find him and keep tabs on him. Make sure he stays away from Sherlock. I can't let Sherlock get kidnapped."

John narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"That's not the whole truth, is it?"

Mycroft seemed taken aback.

"Yes, you do want to keep Sherlock safe," John granted, "But you also want me to be away from him."

"What makes you think that?" Mycroft said cooly but with a hint of frustration.

"Maybe you don't remember now that you're thinking like a kid but you weren't exactly supportive when we were trying to change him back the first time. You wanted to keep him as a little kid in order to raise him in some sort of very disturbing form of brotherly love."

John couldn't count on what happened next. It was so surreal that he would have been sure he was dreaming had he not bit the inside of his cheek.

Mycroft starting crying.

It wasn't a loud wailing but he was sniffling as tears come down. Shocked and feeling guilty, John stood up and kneeled down to inspect him.

"What's wrong?"

Mycroft shook his head.

"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it."

"But-"

"Will you please do as I ask?"

John fell silent. How could he have been so stupid? He couldn't treat toddler Mycroft like his adult version. Toddlers were much more sensitive to insults. What had he been thinking? He placed his hands on Mycroft's shoulders and tried to look him in the eyes, except that Mycroft was intentionally looking away.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm a complete idiot. You love Sherlock and there's nothing disturbing about that."

Which was true, though honestly John still thought that trying to keep your brother a kid in order to raise him like your son was stretching to the creepy zone. But he would keep his mouth shut about that.

Mycroft rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Apology…accepted."

John frowned.

"Do you need a nap?"

He was expecting resistance and denial, the typical toddler response to that question. He was shocked to see Mycroft nodding his head.

"Yes. I think I require a short doze. Can you look after Sherlock for me? Mummy might require some assistance."

John nodded silently and watched Mycroft go into the bed. The ridiculously rich toddler snuggled himself underneath the covers, yawned and fell right to sleep. John left, debating whether or not to turn out the light. Was Mycroft scared of the dark? There was a window and it was still light out, so John decided to turn it off. As he expected, the light from the window did a good enough job keeping the room illuminated.

Satisfied, John walked down stairs. Mrs. Holmes was watching the news and Sherlock was playing with a toy train. Mrs. Holmes looked up.

"Mycroft's taking a nap," John explained in reply to her confused look.

The woman's eyes lit up and then peered kindly at her younger son. Sherlock seemed too engrossed in his toy to notice John. John was used to that kind of treatment, however. When something grabbed Sherlock's attention, it was almost like John wasn't in the room at all.

"I see. I completely forgot that it's afternoon. Sherlock baby, you know what that means."

Sherlock stopped playing to give her a defiant look.

"I don't need a nap. I'm too big for a nap."

"Mycroft's older than you and he's sleeping," Mrs. Holmes reasoned.

"That's just cuz Croft's lazy. There's no need for sleep at this time of the day."

Mrs. Holmes stood up. She peered down with a stern gaze. Not angry, but stern enough.

"There is for three year olds, dear. I know you don't want to take a nap but you have to."

Sherlock rushed to John's leg. Oh, so now he was worthy of attention, John thought with an inward laugh.

"John! Tell Mummy that I'm too old for a nap. I get plenty of sleep."

"When you're an adult, I have to bend over backwards just to get you to sleep a minimum of four hours every night," John pointed out, "You barely get any sleep at all. Besides, your mother's right. It's really important for younger children to get more sleep."

Sherlock stared at him in hurt and bewilderment. He let go of John's leg.

"Traitor."

John managed not to sigh this time. Mrs. Holmes picked Sherlock up and looked around the room.

"In here will probably be best until we find another bed that will fit you. John, can I ask you to get a blanket and pillow from someone? I'll be here with Sherlock."

John nodded. He looked at his miniature friend but Sherlock only stuck his tongue at him. John didn't react. He had seen less mature acts coming from Sherlock when he was an adult.

x

"Moran," the voice was tensed and sounded upset. More than upset, it sounded angry.

Sebastian Moran was currently cleaning his guns when the voice of his boss brought him out of his daydreaming. Moriarty had just came into the door of super secret hideout # 24 and had a newspaper in his hand. His eyes were wide in ever increasing rage.

"Someone shot William Biggin. Now doesn't his name ring a bell?"

Moriarty stalked toward him, gripping at the newspaper like he was about to hit with it. Moran stopped himself from gulping. His boss could really be scary when he wanted to. Moriarty was now patting the newspaper against his open palm.

Moran managed to look cool. He continued to clean.

"No idea."

"He was the director of Buzz. He got shot the other day. Without him, there won't be any new episodes."

"It was a dumb show anyway," Moran's really not surprised when the paper slammed into his face.

"No, it isn't! It's amazing. And the man who shot him is going to die a slow and painful death. Just wait and see. Biggin will be avenged."

Moran instinctively clutched onto his weapon when Moriarty came closer. There was a dark look of intent in his eyes. Suddenly, Moriarty relaxed.

"That's where you come in."

Did he know? Moran didn't want to let his guard down just yet.

"What do you mean?"

"Find the stupid shooter and shoot the shooter for shooting the director shooting the show before he got shot," Moriarty explained simply.

"Um…what?"

"Go!" the crazy villain mastermind screeched.

Feeling lucky that he hadn't been revealed, Moran gratefully left the room. After he was gone, Moriarty sent a few texts. In the next half a minute, the three nameless minions showed up.

Nameless minion # 2 scratched his head.

"You need something from us, boss?" he asked.

Moriarty tossed the paper on the couch. The news disgusted him. No one should be shot unless he authorized it. He hoped Moran would find the man soon.

"Well, my show's been canceled again. You know what that means?"

The minions looked intimidated. They hadn't been expecting a pop quiz and none of them had prepared themselves for it. Luckily, Moriarty wasn't waiting for their answer.

"It means that we can go back to being evil villains."

"Oh, I see," quoted nameless minion # 1, "What are we going to do first?"

Moriarty pursed his lips in thought.

"I don't know. Let's see what Sherlock's up to."


End file.
